Tear Down the Wall, Romeo
by LightofaThousandSuns
Summary: AU. A dictator has come into power, and divided an Empire into two parts: The Worthless and The Necessities. And two young boys on opposite sides of the Wall, will write letters to one another, fall in love, and start a Revolution. DISCONTINUED FOR NOW.
1. Destitution and Discoveries

A/N: Alright, so…this is a creation that was very, very unexpected XD I didn't even love this main pairing until about a week ago; nor did I take forever to come up with this plotline—it took all of twenty-four hours? Not bad, eh? XD

It's my first fantasy fic for Hetalia as well—and, you can blame my Hetalia role-play family on Deviantart XD So let's get the warnings and notes out of the way:

**Main Pairing: PrussiaxGermanxPrussia/Germancest**

**Other pairings**: Mentioned Roderich x Elizabeta, Germania x Ancient Greece (Female OC—sort of? Her name is Grace, here), friendships between Ludwig and Francis, and Gilbert and Antonio, and Ludwig and Roderich and the Italy brothers.

**Warnings/Notes**: Heavy **incest**, language, **fighting**/war-like fighting/revolutionary fighting—**two** character **deaths**, only human names are used. Segregation/race/gender/self-image issues—fantasy kingdom/dictatorship.

**Other notes**:

- Germa is Ludwig's father in this story—He is normally the Holy Roman Empire and Prussia's grandfather.

- This is based partially on the actual Berlin Wall, along with based on an aspect from the film, "Letters to Juliet" and Shakespeare's play "Romeo and Juliet" (one of my favorites); also mild references to Teutonic Knights (their uniform).

**Full Summary**: AU. A dictator (Germania/Germa) has come into power, and divided the kingdom into two parts: The Worthless and the Necessities. The Ugly and the Poor versus the Beautiful and the Rich. The Intelligent versus the Stupid. The Different versus the Same. And two young boys, for over a decade, will write letters to one another, a chink in the wall their 'mailbox', and, unbeknownst to them, are brothers--that will eventually fall in love with one another. And they will also...start a Revolution.

Dedicated to my RP family on dA—including purplespacekitty (MARY MARY!), hmgc, white-reila (My Germany—I'm her Prussia ;D), and all of you, and also all of my readers. And also dedicated to anyone who has had a wall stand in the way of the one they love…and had the courage to knock it down.

And now I present: _Tear Down the Wall, Romeo..._

Song Inspiration:

- "Danger Zone", by Gwen Stefani

_- "_Storm", by Devin Townsend

- "Love is Dead", by Kerli (An artist that is a major inspiration for the entire story)

- "Our Solemn Hour", by Within Temptation (All too fitting—listen and find out why!)

- "Breakaway", by Kelly Clarkson

- "What's Up People?!" by Maximum the Hormone (A lovely song for Germania here)

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* * *

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_"This day's black fate on more days doth depend:  
This but begins the woe others must end."_

_- William Shakespeare, __Romeo and Juliet__, 3.1_

_

* * *

_

Man has been saying for years that the sky shows the state of not just the Gods that exist upon and in a civilization, but the people themselves—the world or kingdom itself. A blue sky shows purity, serenity—a calm that will not be broken. Gray and black morph the world into a storm, the Gods and Goddess' anger showing perfectly clear—Jove and his Thunderbolts would reign terror and sorrow down on his people; Poseidon would stir the seas, Trident shaking the Earth, and the people would be under a dreary storm for many a night and day, or at least an hour.

But…a red sky.

That showed the greatest emotions, the most powerful emotions:

Anger.

Passion.

Wrath.

Hellfire.

On that day, years and years ago—two decades ago, for precision—fire lit up the sky, rubies shown among the orbiting, setting sun. Golden rays and Golden flames shone; for although the sun was going down, torches and fire streamed across the Empire—now to be named the Holy Empire.

It was not a war, but a hostile takeover—a changing of leaders. A changing of Power, and of Law.

The Gods themselves were displeased, as they should be when mass amounts of people--_their _people--are rounded up in carts, their homes burned to cinders and ash, and carried across a kingdom's circumference, to the Eastern Seaboard. But it was a changing time, and no one would be stopped, no deity would intervene. Although Hera wept, although Persephone was in sorrow, and although Venus would scream in agony as she watched children wrenched from the arms of parents, none of them would intervene—none of them would stop the madness. For none of them _could_.

At least…not yet.

And Lord Germa Beilschmidt—Now _King_ Germa Beilschmidt—would be far from stopped.

He could hardly contain his manic grim as he stood on the battlements of his castle—a castle taken by betrayal, by siege; the Wall was being finished as the chaos consumed the Empire—it had taken months for this night to arrive, for builders under the man with the long blonde hair's command to build the Dividing Wall in secrecy, but now the final stones were being put in place, as people were pushed through the small remaining holes, said people either walking, or being carried, or being courted away in the carts—those holes were closed up first; the bigger ones were more of a threat to Germa's 'cleansing' power.

Some had said it would have just been easier to usurp His Majesty Fritz's power, and leave the people as they were—but Germa would not be deterred.

For this Empire needed cleansing—there were so many of them, the Worthless, the Destitute, and they had to go…He wanted perfection, a kingdom where there was nothing but Necessities. Those were to be his subjects—Oh, yes, he would still rule over the Worthless, but only because he had to. But they were to be given nothing. Nothing extra, nothing that the Necessary People would have—amenities would be stripped of anything precious, anything beautiful. They could live…just not near him. They could not contribute anything to his Society.

Call him dictator, call him crazy, call him a sadist and a villain—Germa would just shove you over the Wall to live out the rest of your years in misery.

Haha, no…Actually, he would more likely just kill you; over the Wall was where _They _live—and unless your IQ was low, your body was too heavy, your face too unsymmetrical, or you were too poor, you would never see the land of the Worthless.

They were all of these things—Poor, Ugly, Stupid; every aspect of humanity Germa hated, every aspect Germa wanted gone for the rest of time.

Now, one may think: Well, he could just kill them all, right? Mass murder, yes?

_Mass murder_? HA! _Why _would he do that? That was stupid. He would just put them away.

Sure, he was using _his-_and _only _his-definitions of 'pretty' and 'rich' and 'different'—but he was ruler now, so if he did not know what was best for his Necessary People, then who did?

Footsteps echoed out behind him as he leaned on the castle's battlements, the stone Wall not far in the distance.

"Dear…Are you not scared?"

His wife; Grace was an odd duck—she had supported him up until this point, but now when it went into action…

"Darling Grace, scared of what?" He turned, emerald eyes locking onto the darker-skined woman's sapphire orbs, "My dear, there is nothing they can do. What shall they try? Scale the wall?"

It was twelve feet tall—powerful, slick, and made of the hardest stones that the Holy Empire had.

"…Y-You never know, Germa…"

"My dear, they cannot stop us. Fritz is dead, murdered by my own hand; he failed to run an Empire, so…I took it. Simple as that. And now it is mine to command, yes?"

"…" Grace remained silent, looking out onto the burning landscape—the kingdom was mainly a giant city, in few words; agriculture was not a main economic standing-point, their food and grain was all imported, and there were no farms to burn here, but everything else had been a possible target…_if_ the wrong person lived in it.

"My dear, do you not realize that this land needed this? Look at these people! Albinos, obese persons! Stupid idiots running amuck! Thievery, chaos! Now, _now_ this land will be pure! For years, I advised that stupid old fool—Both Roma and I, God rest his soul—and what did he do? He ignored us. He let them rot and nearly destroy this place! What else was I supposed to do?! The Knights supported my decision, and so did his closest advisors, so what _else_ was I supposed to _do_!?" He had grabbed her shoulders in his ranting, and just for a second, a flash of fear appeared in Grace's eyes.

"But…T-They could-"

"If they try anything, why, is that not why we were given prisons? And the gallows? They will see that there is no reason to stop us. Already, I have heard reports of resistors, and do you want to guess at where they are now, Grace?"

"…I wish not, my Lord."

"Good. Now, did you only come up here to bring me your pitiful doubts? Must I remind you, Grace, that I chose you? Out of all the millions of women in your own Kingdom? I saw something more beautiful in you, something that I _needed_…Do not prove me wrong, Grace. For if I must…set an example by using you, I shall."

"…M-My Lord…H-Husband…" Now Grace was shaking—why, why would he speak to her like so?

"…" A sigh escaped Germa's lips, and he stepped closer to his bride, his wife, hands caressing the woman in the pearl-white gown's shoulders, "My dear, forgive me. The strain, yes?"

"…O-Of course…" But her voice was on the verge of muteness, and eyes dared not meet the man with the golden braid, a braid hanging on a muscular shoulder.

"And Lovino and Roderick? How are they? I suspect they were safe during the raiding?"

"Yes, my Lord. They are fine. Some of the Knights remained in the castle to make sure the advisors such as them were not injured. They are awaiting you downstairs."

"Good." A chaste kiss was placed on a tan cheek, and a sweating brow, "Now, rest. For soon…I shall need your assistance. For…other personal matters." A gloved hand was placed on Grace's abdomen, "I have plans, Grace—and you must be…the _Mother_ of them."

"…I understand, my Lord." A serious done--on the verge of blankness, bleakness, and drone-like.

He left her, then, without even glancing back once; the stairs were heavily trodden upon, Germa's steel-toe boots clacking out a rhythmic beat; his mouth twitched, oh, how he longed to shout a triumphant cry, for ecstasy was building in his bones, and he was ready to jump and shout and scream, and dance on that old bastard Fritz's grave.

But no, he had to maintain his proper attitude for a wee bit longer—there were still matters to attend to.

The throne room came into his sight—the largest and main room of the entire castle…and it was covered in blood.

Of course, there had been some resistors when he had ordered the Knights to storm the castle; Fritz and his court had been meeting at the time, a few hours ago, and now their mangled corpses lay scattered about, rich fabrics stained until they were utterly ruined, gold and jewels having been flung about as the Holy Knights had gone to work.

Thankfully, not all had resisted—just Fritz's closest allies, and said disposed King's body still laid upon the steps as Germa fully entered the room, a look of disgust coming to cloud his complexion.

"I thought I told someone to clean up this bloody mess!" His cry echoed out, but there was no Knight or advisor to hear it; did he have to do everything himself?

"I apologize, my Lord. I shall find a Knight or two to work on it immediately."

Ah, so there _was _someone here…? Yes, yes, Roderich—the boy was only fourteen years of age, but he had the mentality of a thirty-year old—the kinds of thirty year olds that Germa enjoyed having in his company.

"Ah, Roderich. Lovely to see that you are unharmed."

"They did not harm me, my Lord." The bespectacled man returned with, as he stepped from the shadows, "They did not harm many of us—it was the surprise that caught them, ensnared them."

"Mmhm…Yes…" Yes, that was true; the blonde male could recall Fritz's face as he had stepped from the crowd, sword in hand, shouting that he was usurping him, taking the throne for himself; the gray-haired fool had just stood there, mouth agape, as the sword was plunged into his chest.

"The carrying of the…Worthless persons is almost completed, my Lord—or so Lovino stated when he last spoke to me twenty minutes ago."

Ah, Lovino—another good ally; the rough man never let a foe back down, and whereas Roderich had not killed a soul during the siege, Lovino had—many, many times, he had. The fifteen year old boy was a power-house of anger, wrath—after all, Roma had been his grandfather, and when he had passed on, and Fritz had not cared to assist with the death proceedings in any way, well…it was a reason for revenge.

"Excellent. Everything is right on schedule, then, Roderich. You may rest for now, or assist some of the Holy Knights."

The dark-haired youth gave a bow, but did not take steps to leave; instead, he meekly stepped closer, shyly muttering, "H-Highness…If…If I may, may I ask you a question?"

"Hm?" Germa did not glance down at the boy, instead gazing around the court, and outside the open castle doors, hands twitching due to the excitement of the night; and the sky was still alight with fire and pyres, and yet—it made him grin.

"Was…Was it necessary to break up f-families, S-Sir?"

"…Why do you ask?" And now Roderich was gazed at—with a cold, malice-filled stare.

"A-AH! J-Just curiosity, my Lord! F-Forgive me, I am not questioning you, I just-"

"Settle down, Boy. I understand. But yes, it was necessary. Our kingdom must have only pure genes, mind you—those that did not fit the standards I created were unneeded, and they had to be taken away. We cannot have dirtiness mixed in among the purity, now can we?"

"…No, Sir. I suppose we cannot." A flash of a frown was on Roderich's face, before it vanished rapidly—rapid enough so as the new Master of the Empire would not see it.

"Good, now run along."

The youth obliged, giving another bow before exiting the room, the door to the hallway closing behind him with a slam.

Now, now he was alone…

"…Hehehe…" It started out as a little chuckle, but erupted into a full-blown cackle that echoed out throughout the entire castle.

Germa's knees gave out, and they sunk into the plush carpeting he had been standing upon, his face a manic expression; he had done it, he had finally done it! His dreams of ruling a perfect land were coming true! The beautiful and intelligent and rich people would live their lives in perfect harmony with one another! The Worthless ones were gone! Forever! He would not have to care, he would not have to help them; they were on the other side of the Wall! A wall that would never fall, never crumble—they would never have the will to make it fall, or even try to stop him—they would live out the rest of their lives in their own cesspools, in their own filth, and though he would rule them, he would give them nothing! Not a penny, not a thought, nothing!

And he knew who each of them was, in case they _did _try any sort of tactic—records had been taken, one for every single citizen that existed in the Holy Empire, records that included pictures, birth-dates, facts, and so on; not to mention, they could not escape his Knights, either. If anyone tried a single action against him…

_Oh, wondrous Glory is mine…Wondrous Glory!_

There was only one thing left to do…

Shakily, the blonde male rose to his feet, stepping over towards the corpse of Fritz…and picked up the nearby, blood-stained crown.

"…HAHAHA!" The golden piece of headwear fitted upon his brow perfectly, for it was destined to be there! Destined, I say!

And the throne was the most comfortable seat he had ever sat upon; leaning back, arms on the armrests, yes, yes…This was everything he had ever wanted, and now it was here…

His foot accidentally kicked the dead Fritz, but that was the old dead one's fault, now was it not? _He_ had been stupid enough to run an empire nearly into the ground, ruin it until it was screaming for saving; Germa, on the other hand, had done nothing but try to save the land—and now he would and could.

_Oh, glorious days are here at last…_

And soon…His Empire would be eternal…Fritz, in his dying breath, had screamed that Germa would eventually fall—that he could not rule with an iron fist and expect the people to take it lying down; perhaps they would not rebel right away, but it would happen, eventually.

But oh, Germa was to prove them wrong—prove them all wrong!

And another laugh screeched out into the air, as fires were finally dying down miles away, and as final rocks and stones were placed together, the Wall being completed as men and women tried to break it down with their sore and tired hands—and failed at doing so.

Hell was here…and it was here to stay…Of course, in _someone's_ eyes, it was not Hell…

…It was the coming of a brand-new Utopia…

* * *

_**Nine Years Later….**_

* * *

Silence was common now, in the Empire—well, in the Necessities side, towards the Western Sea, silence was not _too_ common at night, what with the parties and the group discussions and the coming-together of the Beautiful and the Geniuses. The persons who had moved on, after the rebellion—the persons who had shrugged, and had followed Germa's ways easily, and enjoyed one another's company. They forgot about the Ugliest, the Idiots, the Moronic and Broke.

But here, on the _edge_ of the Necessities' side of the Divided Empire, there was _much_ silence…Where the Wall was still standing after nearly a decade of tyrannical rule, there were no words spoken, for no one in the Necessities' part of the Empire lived here, and not one person under the category of "Worthlessness" even tried to speak—they would be silenced and unheard, anyway, so why even try?

But there was someone here—his feet in their shiny black shoes made notes of music upon the cobblestones, a silken black cape fluttering in the breeze as trash blew past his tiny body, and a small, peachy hand held onto a black cap that threatened to do the same as the garbage and filth—flee and leave him behind.

There was dirt all around the six year old—who had been born three years after the revolt, the "Coming of Germa" as it was now dutifully nicknamed—and his blue eyes cringed in disgust; then again, what did he expect? Father never had anyone clean this area of the Empire, so why should he be surprised?

He, the boy, would be the one to inherit this all one day—and Ludwig was unsure if he really wanted all of this. Especially the Wall that was on his left.

And frankly, Germa's son should not even be here—he was supposed to be at a tutoring session with Roderich, his assistant and one of the few men and women that actually talked to Ludwig at the castle. But the tiny blonde boy had wandered off, trekking through the kingdom, until coming here—to the Wall.

Partly, he had been bored—Although he enjoyed the quiet sessions with Roderich that occurred on a daily basis, the man did have a monotone that could drive a sane man up a wall if he was lucky enough to get into a political conversation with the glasses-wearing male. And Ludwig had not been allowed outside the castle to a great extent up until now, and curiosity had been eating away at his soul for so, so long!

And now that he was here, staring and walking next to the Wall…He wondered if he truly wanted to own this someday, own a divided land where he did not even know half of the people in it; paintings and cracks lined the Wall, and a touchy hand come out to caress the stones that made up the Division between Worthless and Necessity—the stones were cold, cold like that of his father's hands, his mother's eyes…

Ludwig shivered; there were people over there, people he would never see, never talk to…It was such a fantastical and perplexing idea, yet when he had spoken to his father about it, seeking deeper and more meaningful answers, Germa had just always said, 'It is for the best of our nation, Son. Someday, when you are older, you will understand.'

Would he…? Would he _really_ understand in time…? Ludwig partially figured that was some clichéd dribble parents told their children just to keep them quiet, but then he also partially hoped that his father was right. So…which part would win out? Would he really have to wait until he was older…? Well, he certainly could not continue asking Roderich—the twenty-three year old had not given him any sort of a better answer, so there was no reason to keep interrogating him.

A sigh escaped the Beilschmidt child's lips—the books he had been reading talked of other Empires, other Kingdoms…and none were like his Father's own; they had no 'Walls', no divisions between people other than the obligatory caste systems, they had…unity. Although Ludwig knew all of this, he dared not speak of it to his father—who knew what would occur then!

But nonetheless…there was no other nation that existed in all of the world that had a Wall like this—a Wall that divided a Kingdom in half, stretching from one end, the northern mountains, ending at the Roma Sea that stretched not just all around the southern border, but touched the western and eastern sides—the edges of the lands of the Necessities and Worthless. It had once been called the Frederick Sea, named after, of course, Fritz Frederick, but Ludwig's father had had that changed after he had obtained the throne—the name now held connotations and memories of Germa's old, deceased friend.

_Why, though…? Why is it here...? What was Father really thinking back then...?_

Yes, why? He was only six, but Ludwig was a bright boy—or so Roderich and Germa like to praise him to be so.

No, no, he was intelligent—but it could hinder the boy; he could be quite quiet at some times; then again, when your father was labeled a 'maniac' by possibly more than half of an Empire, and your mother a 'cold-hearted witch' as well, who was to blame Ludwig? And because of this, the boy had grown up with a more…somber mentality; he sought peace, quiet, serenity. What may seem dull to one was actually what Ludwig wanted—reading was a pleasure for him, mainly due to the fact that his Edelstein tutor had made sure the boy started such action at an early age. The blonde tot also enjoyed strolls through the castle's private gardens, and—although his works turned out deplorable—painting was another hobby.

But he never played with the other children in the Empire, for many reasons; many lass and lad feared the prince, due to his parental connections. And now that Ludwig thought about it, most of the entire kingdom feared him and his parents—but him especially, for if his _Father_ had constructed a Wall, and had taken over the land with hostility, what was _Ludwig_ to do with age?

Add to that the fact that Ludwig held an introverted personality, there was little footing to being a relationship with—so his days were more solitary, save for his parents and his tutor and Lovino, the captain of the Knights, having gained the position at the age of eighteen. And there were the three dogs his Father kept around the castle, but they could be moody creatures, and on some days, Germa's son wished to avoid them.

So he spent his time and days strolling, thinking…pondering, reading…There was little else to do; but now, here was something different—he was touching, actually _touching_ the Wall with his own tiny hands.

Each stone was round, or circular, and the blonde cherub-child could picture how his Father's workers had spent the months building up the wall, placing one stone here, another there…Many of the citizens had just believed it would be a type of 'gateway'—separating a rich class area of the Kingdom, the Empire, from a poorer one. Hence, why no one rejected it. Add to that Fritz being distracted with numerous 'frivolities', as Germa repeatedly had stated, and possibly running down the lane of senility, there was no way Germa could have been stopped—and the protests soon came too late.

Blue eyes and a young mind could see the carts, the people screaming as babies were wrenched from their hands, and thrown to Knights, who hopped up tall, tall ladders, handing the babies to their kinsmen on the other side of the wall. There had been fathers who lost daughters, mothers and their sons being torn apart, siblings separated for the rest of time…

It was hard to say whether Ludwig condemned or appreciated what Germa had accomplished—perhaps his intentions had been…decent? Along the line of decency, at least? But as he touched the stone wall, some of the rock showing actual human blood, blood of the resistors from long ago, and even from recently, the Beilschmidt was doubtful. Very, very doubtful.

Lives had been lost; they had been the price for 'perfection'—or so Germa could not help but remind him on a daily basis. This is not to say that Ludwig did not _love_ his father—he just wondered if his Father was _right_…

_But…It is hard…_

Yes, it was hard to trust and love a Father who spent most of his hours working, or talked of life so coldly…And his mother, oh…She had been so kind to him when he was younger, but as he aged, he began to see why her 'reputation' had come to be born. Sometimes Grace would order him to go to his room, leave her be…And then, when no one was looking, Ludwig would stay behind, press an ear to the woman's bedroom-door, and…and hear sobs. What was his mother keeping from him? And, whatever it was, why did she warp her sorrow into anger and coldness, directed at him and the people?

So many questions, so many invisible answers; and it was clear that they would not be revealed in time, and it was also clear that they made Ludwig feel old—not six years old at all. But he was a prince, an inheritor—_the _inheritor—of the Empire, and was expected to be aged even while youthful.

The only true certainty, in his mind, in all minds, was the Wall—its presence, its sturdiness, its—

The tot paused; his right hand had been grasping a stone, and yet…this stone…

…Was loose…

"Ah?"

Yes, it was loose—but a _stone_ on the _Wall_? _Loose_? That was preposterous, outrageous, ludicrous, it was—

…There was _something_ in the wall, he could see it now, he could see it better; cerulean eyes peered closer as the blonde stood on his tip-toes, and on closer inspection, it turned out to be a piece of paper…

Now, this was an odd situation—one, the Wall was supposed to be impenetrable, unable to be weakened, and the stones _should_ have been packed close enough to not allow any space; or, so it had been decreed.

But, unbeknownst to both Ludwig and his father…almost over a decade ago, a worker had slacked off, having a little bit of ale while placing the stones near one another…

…And it was to bring about the most powerful change in the Empire…

His curiosity was piqued, and now Ludwig had to see that piece of paper—what if it was a type of propaganda from the Other Side? From the Worthless? Should he not show it to his Father—Perhaps the elder would be more kind to his child, then? Show him more paternal love?

…Or…if it was propaganda…What would happen if Ludwig was to not inform his parent…?

_N-No, that would be wrong…F-Father would wish for you to inform him, yes…_

The boy let out a breathy sigh, his decision perfectly clear, and carefully, nimble fingers began to unfold the yellow, crusted paper; what lay in front of him after a moment of hesitation, sapphire eyes closing out of fear and shock, was not a conspiracy against the Empire, or Germa.

No, the item in the blonde's possession turned out to be something _entirely_ different…

_Dear Whoever-the-Hell reads this,_

If that beginning told anything, anything at all, about this piece of paper, it was this: It was a letter…For, after all, letters started with the word 'Dear'…Not many, though, spoke with such a snide inflection, and for a moment, Ludwig found himself wanting to put the piece of paper back, and ignore whoever this rude person was. After all, who had the gall to speak like that in a letter to a _stranger_…?

But…Ludwig found himself drawn in by the crass harshness of the opening statement; this was something new, something that was not just his books or his dreadful landscape paintings. It was different from his mother's maternal instincts' predominant absence or his father's less-than-lucid mentality.

So, what was the risk? He read on, further down the grungy paper…

_I'm a fucking bored eight-year old. I'm stickin' this letter in the damn Wall because, yes, someone as AWESOME as ME got stuck over HERE, and no one is cool enough for me to hang out with. So I'm hoping that if I stick this letter where someone could see it, an AWESOME person would find it and talk to me, got it? Not too hard to understand, right? I mean, when that old hag at the orphanage explained it to me, it made sense, so you should be able to get it, yeah?_

_So yeah—Write back? Or something. I dunno, I'm BORED._

_- Gil_

…Well.

Not much to say about that, now was there?

Ludwig quirked an eyebrow; _who_ would be desperate enough to stick a letter in the Wall, hoping for some contact? And _where_ did an eight-year old learn to swear!?

A tiny part of Germa's son felt utter disgust and distaste at whoever this 'Gil' was—His attitude had come off as clearly pompous, and did he find it necessary to capitalize the word 'awesome' over and over again? It was obnoxious, for multiple reasons, and the six year old royal found his head shaking in distaste.

He really should just stick the letter back, let it go—this person was obviously one of the 'crazies' that Germa repeatedly warned him of; they were liberals, who loved to open their mouths, and command attention—soaking up said attention like sponges in the Roma Sea.

And yet…

Ludwig sighed, fixing his ebony cap, a nervous habit of his; there was something about this letter that was just…off. He had said to himself, who would be this desperate to write a letter and stick it in a hole? Well…perhaps this man was 'desperate' enough—or, lonely enough.

And Ludwig could sympathize with said loneliness—After all, look at who he was!

"…" Another sigh; he really should not—Crazy, hyperactive, and tactless persons were not the types he should associate with. In a way, if he wrote back, who knew what was to happen? Would this 'Gil' ignore his reply? Would he not be 'AWESOME!' enough?

Or…

Or would he want more of Ludwig's correspondence…?

That was an interesting thought, and it stirred excitement in the little boy's stomach, excitement he had not felt in years.

Because of his age, Ludwig could not write extensive statements—but he could write enough to get simple points across, and, because of Roderich's teaching skills, he was above most of his peers' writing skills.

The prince fished around in his shirt pocket; he was known for always at least keeping some small pieces of paper on his person, for Ludwig was a boy who had been taught ever since he was able to understand the Empire's language that he had to be prepared. For _anything_. Germa had stated that there were no limits on preparation numerous times, and Ludwig had taken that life-lesson to heart. So now he carried around with him small pieces of paper, perhaps a pencil or tiny pen; at other times, when Ludwig would think of it, he would bring a small bag on his secret (and sometimes not-so-secret) treks through the Empire and even the castle itself, so he could be further prepared.

But this would do for now; knees fell to the ground carefully, a minute hand reaching out and brushing away as much stray dirt as it could, clearing the cobblestones; once the Prince found his impromptu desk to be satisfactory, he sent about writing a miniature letter, pulling out a snowy-white sheet of paper, and a stub of a pencil, the letter itself stating,

_Hello,_

_My name is Ludwig…I found your letter…I...I don't know who you are, but…_

_Want to be friends? I'm bored too—and lonely. Real lonely. Are you?_

_Please write back!_

Germa's son realized what exactly he was admitting—he _was_ lonely, and he felt somewhat of an outcast even in his own home, when he was not being ordered to feel a certain way for the Worthless. And speaking of the Worthless, if his parents knew that he was writing to one of them…oh, my, no, no—this _had_ to remain a secret.

The letter was stuck inside the crack where 'Gil's' letter had been acquired; Ludwig stuck the letter from the mystery boy in his pocket with his pencil, afterwards dusting himself off from having to kneel on the ground; perhaps he was a tad…overzealous with cleaning objects, but that had been taught by Roderich—now _there _was a man that was obsessive-compulsive about cleanliness, and probably, in Edelstein's world, it was next to whatever Gods existed now in the Empire.

The afternoon time was passing Ludwig by, and he knew that his absence would be soon noticed—or, at least by Roderich. So with a sigh, and a last look at the tucked-away letter, the Beilschmidt lad hurried on his way, shoes clacking up a symphony once more.

…He had set changes in motion, and yet…

The six year old far from knew it; at this age, he could barely comprehend it…But it was coming…

He was doubtful now—doubtful if his father was a 'meanie' or 'cruel', or whether he was a 'Saint' as some of the Necessities portrayed him to be. Or were the _other _Necessities right? The ones that stated how much of a 'monster' Germa was—stating it silently, with their cold looks at the Ruler and his family, the prince far from segregated when it came to that type of behavior; and they were stating it even further with their coldness towards the entire kingdom, their hiding-themselves-in-their-homes, their blank looks upon once-full-of-life faces. But, they believed, why show life when their _real_ life was on the other side of the Wall?

Soon, Ludwig was to be even more doubtful—about even more serious topics; topics of rebellion, of romance, of where lines could be crossed, _when_ they should be crossed…

He was to be scolded upon his return to his home, Roderich having a fit of huffy rage, while Germa, who would be informed, would not show an ounce of anger or hurt—he would just order his son to 'return to his books'. And Mother? Oh, she would be holed up in her room…like always…

He was to spend the night in solitary, also like always—but Ludwig, after some hours of lying on his bed, flipping through his atlases of other realms and his child-like novels filled with fairytale stories, would pull out the crumpled piece of paper, gazing upon it, and reading the words—rude though they may be—over and over.

What _was _it about this letter?

There was something there, Ludwig knew it…was this person sad? They were obviously lonely, even if they did not blatantly state such an emotion, but…were they more like him than he had previously realized…?

He had few answers—as always. There were no obtainable answers regarding his parents, his teachings, his future…

…And now there were none concerning 'Gil'…

Germa's son could only hope that, now that he had stumbled onto a mystery of sorts, that more answers would be obtained—via the mysterious stranger writing him in return.

The blonde would check later tomorrow, if he could sneak away again—Roderich was a horrible babysitter, when one was speaking bluntly; Ludwig figured he could outsmart him once more. Cunning ran in the Beilschmidt bloodline, after all.

But for now, his only definite 'answer', his only definite and wholly-true-for-always-thought was thus: The moon shone, as always, upon the Empire.

The Divided Empire…

And a tiny tot fell into slumber, clutching a letter to his chest…It was the only human contact he had that night, his Father too busy to kiss him goodnight, his Mother having gazed into her son's room, but did nothing further, a blank look situated upon Grace's face the entire time.

A home divided, a Land divided…

A permanent reminder having crash-landed in the middle of a once beautiful Empire…That was now ironically called 'Holy'…

Silence existed in the night for those who opposed it all, even to this day; humor and joy for those who submitted and praised a tyrant…You could only have one, and you had had little time to choose—nine years ago, on a single day; that was when you made your choice, and it was instant.

And more decisions would have to be made…Be they be in times of joy, for two lovers meeting in the most star-crossed of circumstances…

…Or in tragedy, a tragedy that would morph two lives—and two halves of a realm—for the rest of Eternity…

Tragedies happen often—especially in this Empire, of course—but this was to be different:

It was to bring _changes_…

To many a person…And they were not Germa's types of changes, oh, no…

But, no use getting ahead…There is always a beginning to a story of love and lost, of woe and wonder, of friends and foes…

And here…

It began with a simple letter, an even simpler plea, covered in oodles of innocence…

Yes, one letter…

And from one…

There would be…two…

A pair, like the phoenix and his turtle…

And from there…?

A pair would be a pair…

But one letter turning into two would turn into five…ten…passing hundreds…

Of course, neither Gil nor Ludwig was to know this as they slept in beds on the opposite sides of the Empire; one, in the richest castle money could buy, the other a rotting orphanage run by stubborn old men and naïve elderly women…

But time would tell…For sunrises bring many things.

Love.

Power.

Joy.

But most of all, sunrises bring…

Change...

* * *

"…_From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,  
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.  
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes  
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;  
Whole misadventured piteous overthrows  
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.  
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,  
And the continuance of their parents' rage,  
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,  
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;  
The which if you with patient ears attend,  
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend."_

_- Romeo and Juliet, Prologue: Act I_

_

* * *

_

A/N: And there's chapter one!

Please tell me what you think :] I'll be updating it shortly, after two chapters of the story 'Let Me Be Your Savior' are put up.

Thanks so much for reading, much more to come!


	2. Power and Prayers

A/N: WOW! I've already gotten so much support on this story, and it makes me extremely happy X3 Thank you my dears, you're all so sweet!

Now, on with the show!

P.S. When I saw the beginning quote, I thought it fit Gilbert perfectly!

Song Inspiration:

- "All I Need", by Within Temptation

- "Unbreakable", by Fireflight ( I love this band—They are all over the place on this story's playlist)

- "Glitter in the Air", by P!NK

- "Holding Out for a Hero", by Imogene Heap

* * *

"_They can't chain my spirit!_

_My spirit runs free! _

_Walls can't contain it! _

_Laws can't restrain it! _

_Authority has no power over it!"_

_- Bill Watterson, creator of 'Calvin and Hobbs'_

* * *

He could say he was used to the yelling, shouting, and the heated insults—in fact, they just gave him more strength; he was just able to reply that his 'awesome self' did not care what they thought, and that they were 'fat fucking idiots'. Idiots for insulting his intelligence, idiots for thinking he looked like a vampire, idiots for saying that he was _more_ Worthless than them.

They were all in the same place; they had no right to _judge_.

That is not to say Gilbert enjoyed, or was used to, other abuse—so when the rubber ball hit the back of his cranium, his yelp that was let out before falling flat on his face was heartily unexpected, and the other children at the orphanage let out a righteous roar.

"What was that for?" A pale hand came up to rub silver tresses, now sprinkled with mud due to the dirty ball.

"'Cause we don't want you to play with us, that's why!" What was this kid's name again? Gilbert could not recall it—which showed that it was not worth remembering in the first place.

"Well, why? I'm a great kickball player, and you know it!" He was fuming—what had he done to these brats? They should enjoy having his eight-year-old self around; he brought laughs, he brought humor, so why did they always have to exile him?

"Because you're a weirdo, that's why!" Choruses of 'Yeah!' and 'Go away!' echoed out, and the albino boy tried his best to block them out.

"I am not!" Oh, where was Mistress Elizabeta? Or Antonio? Those two were the only ones that cared about him at the orphanage and in this neighborhood, and Gilbert, uncharacteristically, began to feel smaller as some of the older and larger children at his 'home' came closer to his seated-in-the-dirt body, scowls on their faces, brows furrowed in distress and anger.

"Yes, you are! All you talk about is yourself, and all you care about is yourself! And besides, look at you! You're the only albino here!"

"I…I am not! Michael's an albino, too!"

The protest and piece of information failed to change their minds, for a tart reply came forth,

"So? Michael actually cares about people! He's the friendliest kid here!"

"Yeah!" A little girl in blonde pigtails piped up with, "Michael isn't a...a…what's that word, Tommy?"

"Egoist?"

"Yeah, that word!"

"Who the fuck taught you that word?" Gilbert snapped, "Whatever, _Princess_. Shouldn't you go play with your dollies? Kickball's a man's game."

"Ah…" The girl began to become teary-eyed, and the boy she had spoken to, Tommy, the 'leader', came over to her, speaking,

"Easy, Annabelle. Gilbert was just _leaving_."

"Make me! I have every right to play kickball, too!"

"No you don't! If you're so _awesome_, why do you want to play with _us_?"

"…B-Because-"

"Because why? Because you're a freak and no one likes you?"

"That's not true! Antonio likes me! And so does Miss Elizabeta!" Now the ruby-orbed male was shouting, and had hoped to his feet, rage forming a red cloud upon his cheeks.

"Antonio is just as much of a freak as you are; he probably chases after little kids like…like…What was that word, again?"

"Pedophile?"

"Yeah, thanks Abraham. Pedophile! You're a pair of freaks, of weirdoes! I mean, look at you! And think about what you do! Talking about how 'awesome' you are, _writing_ about how you awesome—Oh, yeah, we know about the diaries, you don't exactly hide them that well."

"S-Shut up!" He was pouting in rage, hands shaking—Gilbert was ready to attack, if Tommy kept this up.

"No one likes you, 'cause you're such a weirdo! And you're mean to all the girls, too! You're mean to everyone in general!"

"I can't help it if people make me mad, so shut up!"

"Aww," Tommy smirked, "Did I hurt the baby's feelings? Does the baby have 'anger issues'? Does the baby need to go back inside and write in his diary about how 'everyone is un-awesome and are all bastards'?"

"SHUT UP!"

"Hmph. No wonder your Mom abandoned you, she probably couldn't stand to look at your face, and she knew you'd turn out to be a freak-"

And the attack came forth; with a leap, Gilbert tackled the brunette boy to the ground, with a cry of anguish—Now Tommy had gone too far.

"AGH! Get him off me!"

If there was one thing the eight-year old orphan was good at, it was punching. Kicking. Fighting.

For this was not his first fight, by far—no, far from it indeed.

He was going to make sure Tommy paid for his comments, and a nice black eye, or a injured nose, or both were certainly the ideas he had in mind for his revenge. And possibly a bite mark on his cheeks, or-

"Miss Elizabeta, Miss Elizabeta!" The girl called Annabelle had fled, to find the caretaker, and now she was dragging the long-haired lass to the scene of the brawl, "Stop him!"

A gasp came from the older female, and a shout of, "GILBERT!"

By now, Tommy was whimpering, and crying, and once Elizabeta tugged off the younger of the two, he let out a shout of, "He bit me!"

In Elizabeta's grasp, Gilbert squirmed, "Let me at him! He insulted me! He deserved it! Lemme at him, I'mma break his nose!"

"That's enough. From the both of you. Tommy, go inside, and ask Nurse Clara to tend to your wounds. Gilbert, I shall be speaking with you, first."

"Wha? That's not fair!" The boy protested as the twenty-one year old woman put him on the ground, "You always punish me first!"

"No, I do not, Gilbert, and you know it."

"Yeah, you do!" The albino child frowned deeply, scrunching up his eyes, willing away tears—he would be damned if he cried in front of a _woman_, or _any_ person for that matter.

"Gilbert…Please, calm down. All we need to do is talk, okay?"

"No! It's not fair, Miss Elizabeta! You're just like 'em, too! Turning on me! And all they do is pick on me, and you don't care! You tell them to stop, but that's all! You don't punish them or…or anything!"

The woman raised an eyebrow, her hands on her lithe hips, "Gilbert, that is not true, and you know it! I shall punish Tommy for his comments to you, but you also must be punished for fighting with him-"

"WHY? I have to defend myself somehow! They always pick on me, and no one cares!"

"Honey…I care-"

"No you don't!" Now Gilbert was crying, water streaming down his cheeks, with no dam, be it real or metaphorical, to stop it, "Only Antonio cares, because he actually sticks up for me when he's around! But even he got moved to another orphanage, so now I have no one here!"

"…Gilbert…" There was little Elizabeta could say or do, "Honey, please, do not cry…Ah…" She paused, to dig in her pocket for a handkerchief, passing it mutely to the sobbing child before her; but Gilbert rejected her charity by swatting her hand away with his own.

"Just leave me alone! Go take care of the kids ya really love or whatever!"

And with that, the boy took off in a run; he had always been able to run fast, for he had had to. When he had been younger, the bullies had chased him down alleyways, his child-like feet having to adapt, lest he be attacked over and over again; his face had taken quite a beating before the running had been perfected.

Gilbert heard the woman calling after him, but he hardly cared; the albino knew he should be used to this treatment, but…

For once, he just wanted someone on his side.

Wholly and only on his side…

He had never had that—Even Antonio could not always be there, and sometimes even _he _would scold Gilbert afterwards.

Maybe it was a futile dream, but he wanted a friend…a best-friend, a forever-loyal friend…Someone who would be like a brother to him. Someone who would give him sanctuary, peace…Without questioning who he was, what his personality was like…Anything like that…

But dreaming was hard when you were called Worthless everyday…

So he ran to the only place that gave him comfort…And prayed no one would bother him there…

There, in his private sanctuary…

* * *

The swing set was rusty, creaky, and had, most likely, a very copious amount of health violations. But here, in this dingy park, it was Gilbert's—and always had been. He figured that as he aged, soon enough the contraption would fall to the ground, even if he would not weigh that much.

It was solace, even if it was not pretty, or any other 'good' adjective. There was green grass, and the swing still swung—that was all that mattered to Gilbert as his pallid hands hung onto the chains that held the seat aloft, his body moving back and forth in a robotic rhythm, blue t-shirt wafting along in the smog-filled breeze that blew by his body.

He was used to how this side of the Kingdom smelled and was; how there was dirt everywhere one walked, how the air smelled of sulfur, disease, rotten food, sexual relations of the lowest quality, and debased death. How one had to walk with a knife in their pocket to stop muggings and murder; how this was all desperation, and that the King had been the cause of it all.

There was nothing here…and that was the problem. The title of Worthless had brought with it Nothingness, and every single person had to act in ways that made survival a necessity—whether it was with robbery, raunchy behavior, or reprimanding others, it all had to be done…

That was not to say that Gilbert did not want it…What could he do?

He had nothing on his side, and that was his _personal_ problem.

His size, being smaller than most of the other children, did nothing to help his matters—nor did his diaries, and all the entries about himself, and those that were degrading to the other children of the orphanage. But could he help it? When you only have yourself to love and care for, and talk about in the books, could you _blame_ him?

The air now smelled of rain—humidity making Gilbert's hair stand on end, his ruby eyes closing in a squint at the thought of having to run back to the orphanage if the clouds opened up and cried to him; he did not need any of that, and that was the truth.

But then again, his body did not wish to move; he knew what was to come when he returned to his 'home'; he would get scolded once again, it turning into a nearly-daily occurrence, and the rest of the children and teens would make it so he was isolated, having no one to sit with at chow-time, and his bed would be cold—he had been stuck with, after multiple fights in his younger years, a single bed, in a small, dank room, with no roommates. And although sometimes Gilbert would appreciate the solitude, it drove him insane at other moments.

It was then that his quirky ears heard soft-shoed footsteps, yet the silver-haired child felt no reason to turn and glance at the approaching human; he knew who it was.

"…Gilbert."

"…" He deigned to not look at Miss Elizabeta, only staring ahead; it was after some moments, when the woman spoke no further, did Gilbert give a comment,

"How did you find me?"

"…Tommy told me that this is where you come sometimes."

The child snorted, "Snitch."

Neither spoke for some time, until the woman present stepped closer, murmuring, "May I take a seat, Gilbert?"

The other responded with a shrug, "Sure. Sorta-Free-Nation, right?"

That was a joke on this side of the Wall: 'Sort-of-Free-Nation'. It was ironic, to almost a sickening degree; they had the freedom to choose their food (Sort of—it was more what was available, and not being picky), the freedom to choose their home (Again, sort of—it was either Shack A or Shack B and so on…), the freedom to choose their schooling—Sort of.

'Sort of'—the most populous words in the Worthless vocabulary.

Elizabeta complied, situating herself in the empty swing next to Gilbert, hands folded demurely in her lap, eyes turning not towards her charge, but away from him; there was no need for words, when both knew that each other was true, to some extent.

But matters were at hand, at the heart, and they could not ignore them forever—despite Gilbert wanting to. But even though he was only eight years of age, he could not keep his feelings bottled up forever, especially when someone—someone he could at least mildly trust—was willing to listen.

"…Miss Elizabeta?"

"Yes, Gilbert?"

"…Why am I…" A pause, the boy swallowing the lump in his throat, "Worthless…?"

She responded naught, only letting out a sigh; it took some time for the chocolate-tresses lass to find appropriate words, an appropriate response, and it was only semi-acceptable in both of their pairs of eyes—it would _do_, but it could be _better_.

"…Because you…Because of how you look, Child."

"That wasn't what I meant, Miss Elizabeta."

"…You are…asking for a deeper meaning, then?" She probed, and Gilbert gave a confirming nod, along with the word,

"Yes."

"…We are not to ask or question, Gilbert. And you know that."

"We have never been allowed to question, Miss Elizabeta. Not as long as I've been alive. Don't you ever…want to?"

"…Of course, who would not want to? But there is a difference between wanting and being able to do something."

They fell into silence once again, the albino beginning to swing back and forth at a lazy pace, speaking after some time a question the lass hoped to never hear from one of her charges; some of them had spoken it before, the braver and bolder younglings, and she had been able to sweep them a short and curt, yet kind, answer, making the subject vanish entirely…for the time being.

But here, with Gilbert, Elizabeta knew that would not be an option when the following words flowed through paler lips,

"Why are you considered Worthless, Miss Elizabeta?"

"…" Jade-hued eyes turned on the curious boy, and the woman knew she could not answer him with just a simple, single word—Gilbert was as stubborn as Minos' bull, and Elizabeta knew the boy would prod and prod until he was satisfied, so there was no use hiding the pitiful truth, "You really want to know the real reason?"

"Well, yeah. The other kids give me shit answers, so…"

"Gilbert, language!"

"Hey, sorry! Just…Just can you tell me? I want to know." There was an air of desperation to Gilbert's voice that was not always present, and the twenty-one year old female found herself giving the boy an answer with nigh-to-none hesitation.

"Because I am a woman that is strong, independent…Because I am a woman that speaks her mind. Granted, I was a young girl when I was sent over here, but I was that way back then. They decided—As in, his Highness decided—that females of my caliber would be a threat to whatever he wanted. So my mother and I were forced to come here."

"And your mother? Where is she?"

"Did I not say once that little boys shouldn't ask so many questions?" There was a glimmer of mirth in the woman's eyes, and she let out a laugh when the child at her side pouted, "No…No, my mother has passed on. I suppose the strain of being on this Side took a toll on her body."

"…I see." Gilbert nodded, returning to his thoughtful swinging, his tiny mind ticking back and forth, ideas and notions coming around and around in repetitively motions. But he spoke nothing, his harsh and rash demeanor becoming subdued in the presence of his caretaker.

But in the silence came an emotion that Gilbert wanted to block out: vulnerability.

It was a double-edged sword, his relationship with the woman; half the time he would bicker, disobey, run away, do whatever he could to be at odds with Elizabeta. And yet, the other half of the time…she was his _mother_—or as close to one as Gilbert would ever get.

He never knew the identity of his real parents—supposedly, the rumor was that he was a "Throw-Away": A baby, literally thrown over the wall, a surprisingly common occurrence, and caught by a nearby person (Usually it was announced when a baby was to be "Thrown-Away") and taken to an orphanage. So whoever that bitch-of-a-real-mom was, and whoever that trite-bastard-of-a-father was, Gilbert did not care—In his mind, he used to like to believe his parents had just…died. Or left him here.

But that had been when he had younger years—he was wiser now.

Deep down, he knew…He knew that he did not belong here, that someone had _left_ him here, on _purpose_…Not because they wanted him to maybe have a smidge of a better life, or because they had died…

So he was stuck with no caretaker, save for Elizabeta—and the silver-haired boy would be the first to admit that their relationship was a tad bit…strained at many points. But still, she was there, she was supposed to be, for all of them, their parent…For he was not the only orphan in a sea of children.

And because of this, he could talk to her, right…?

"…Elizabeta…I-I mean, Miss Elizabeta?"

"Yes, Gilbert?"

"…Why do they hate me…?"

The woman started at the eight-year old's bluntness, and noted as she turned to face him that ruby orbs were staring at the gravel and dirt underneath worn sneakers, the body that had once been swinging slowly now bringing the metal and plastic contraption to a stand-still.

"Gilbert…They do not hate you."

"Oh?" The boy could not help but quirk an eyebrow, letting out a sarcastic huff of air, "I would've been fooled."

"They do not hate you—they just do not _understand_ you, Gilbert."

A pause, with no reaction from the boy, until he found the courage to murmur,

"I…guess that makes sense."

"And their misunderstandings turn to fear, and anger, and…well…" A gentle hand, with fingers worn from washing dishes and tucking children into beds that they did not deserve, came to touch the albino's tresses, rubbing the sore area that had been attacked before.

"…So does that mean that His Majesty just…doesn't understand _us_?"

"Hush. It is that kind of thinking that could get you killed, or jailed, at the very least, Gilbert."

"S-So now we can't even _think_!" The orphan proclaimed, exclaimed with all of the fury he could muster as his bony body jumped off the swing, arms coming to fold across his chest, "So now they're takin' away our thinking?"

"No! N-Not at all! It's just…Gilbert…"

"What?"

"…He has ears. Even on this side. Spies, people who listen in. If they think that anything is suspicious, they will-"

"What? They're gonna think some kid ranting is 'suspicious'?"

Elizabeta let out a small laugh, "No…Possibly not. But I am warning you nonetheless, for your future."

Gilbert let out a snort, "Sure. Future. Interesting word you used there."

"Oh, so now the great 'Awesome-Gilbert' doubts that he will have a future? Is that what I am hearing, young man?"

"…W-Well…" Damn this woman, damn her! How dare she look at him so compassionately, and look through him like he is nothing more than just transparent glass; it is infuriating to the boy with no last name, it is downright irksome, downright troublesome!

"Gilbert…" The woman took her turn to stand up from the swing, stepping closer to her charge, bending down to reach eye-level with the ruby-orbed boy, "If there is anyone that I know will have a future, it is you."

"…W-What do you mean?" Again, the vulnerability struck like lightning, and the silver-haired child had to resist reaching out like he did in his younger years, and grabbing onto Elizabeta's pine-and-white-hued dress with frills.

"You have such a strong will, that is what I mean. Although many times I do disapprove of it, and how you use it, it is there. And that is all that matters for you to have a life. The other children, they…they follow me many days and nights without questioning me, or Nurse Clara or any of the other adults around here—while you do. You have a will that many cannot have, that many have lost due to…the Wall."

"…So I have a 'strong will', what does that do for me? I still don't have anyone close by that likes me." He was hesitant to smile—Gilbert enjoyed how the elder spoke of his will, his strength…but that lingering feeling of loneliness still clung to the albino like a parasite from the deadliest mosquito.

"You just have not met anyone yet, Gilbert!" Now there was a grin the size of the Elysian Fields upon the brunette lass's face, "You just have not met anyone that understands you, but you will in time!"

"Are you _always_ this cheery and hopeful, Miss Elizabeta? And I just don't see it?"

The brunette gave a laugh, "Why, I learned that you have to be somewhat upbeat to live on this Side, Gilbert. We have to be happy with what we have—They may try to make us miserable, but we can fight Them; this is the only way we can fight Them, as a matter of fact."

"Why? Why fight this way?" He was believing that it would be more helpful to fight in the classically-known way: rebel; and he would forever think that, for over a decade, and such an ideal would assist Gilbert in obtaining any sort of sustainable future.

"…Because Death will accompany us if we ride on the waves of rebellion, Gilbert. And you know it."

"…Because Death rides with the futile warriors of the Empire." It was a poem that the children had been asked to read during their schooling at the orphanage; in a way, it was true—those that had tried to climb the wall had never returned, one way or another, whether they were stuffed into the prisons, or hung from the gallows, or even sliced with blades. And even then prisons were said to not be overcrowded, for the particular reason of dying—and there was the stench of decay from many of the institutions that further spoke as proof.

But Gilbert was never one to give up, speaking strongly,

"But…what if we weren't futile, Miss Elizabeta? What if we…"

"Gilbert-"

"What if we actually could find a way? Do you really wanna be fucking stuck here for the rest of your life?" The boy's voice began to rise higher and higher, his emotions swelling, the desires pertaining to power and freedom becoming too much to not be vocalized.

"Gilbert-!"

"Isn't there any sort of way? Don't you think we could _find_ one? Make one! We're half of an Empire, fer God's sake! Why can't we-"

"Because we _can't_!" Elizabeta did not shout it—she screamed the phrase, with tears in her eyes, "We can't do a damn thing, Gilbert, and it is time you realized that!"

"You might not be able to do something, but I can! Eventually, I can!"

"NO! No you can't, and you shouldn't try! You'll just get yourself killed, dammit!"

"You just said awhile ago you admired my strength, and now you fucking say I can't _use _it?"

"No. You can't use it in the way you think. You can use it to, perhaps, change your individual life on a small scale, but I will forbid you to try to use it a rebellion. You will…You will…You will be _lost_ to us, Gilbert."

The boy with the ruby eyes let out a small scoff, "So we can't even try?"

"People have tried—and has it done a single thing?"

"Why do you care? You said I am someone who's gonna have a future—and I will, by fixing things! I can!"

"NO! You can't!" She got on her knees, and Elizabeta found herself unable to hold back the light streams of tears further as she placed delicate hands on bony shoulders, "We cannot afford to lose you. The Worthless persons here…eventually, they will see the good in you, and you will keep us strong. But you cannot keep us strong if you pull a stunt and _die_. You will have a future here, with us. I cannot let you risk your life like such, Gilbert. Because…You, all of you, all of the children, are my family."

"…Don't you want to be over there, Elizabeta? Don't you want equality?"

"Not when they will kill me for it. And if they did not want me before…" She paused, her head hanging, emerald eyes blinking back tears, "I…There are parts of my life you are not permitted to know, Gilbert. Perhaps one day, I shall share them with you. For now, can you just…just promise me that you will not try to ever revolt against Them? Against His Highness? I know you will not do something now, but…but promise me that when you're grown up that you will not try a single stunt. Please?"

"…" The albino child did not fail to respond—he just remained silent; at least, that was how it was in his mindset. For he knew his answer, and he knew Elizabeta would fail to enjoy it. But his mind was made up—he was a stubborn boy who would grow into a stubborn man, and eventually a stubborn leader. But this conversation would impact him—he would remember it days, years, and eventually decades from now, and Gilbert would far from regret how he proceeded from this particular point onward.

"…No. I can't."

It was a murmur, but it was loud enough to elicit a gasp from the lass in front of him, and she was able to speak the boy's name; but he in turn only responded with,

"I can't promise that. This isn't some…shitty childish dream. I…I feel super strong about this! I do! I know that one day, someone here's just gotta do _something_, and maybe that somebody will be me. I'm not saying it will be, Miss Elizabeta! But it could be! And I thought you were strong, too! You're just givin' up like the rest of them!"

"They…They break you Gilbert. They tear you down, and they will tear _you_ down if-"

"NO! No way! I'mma beat them, I'mma stop them, and I'mma prove my worth! I'm a boy that's strong, you said so yourself! So I'mma show them that they're wrong! That they're wrong about me, and you, and even that whiny bastard Tommy! I'mma do it ALL!"

"G-Gilbert-"

"Don't try and say I shouldn't, either! I will! I'll show them! I…I'mma find someone, too!" And now, deep down, that bitter sting that Gilbert had felt earlier was creeping up again; the vulnerability, the loneliness, the solitude and lack of gratification and pleasure and happiness in his youthful life, "I…I'll find someone who's gonna fully support me! Never say that I shouldn't do a thing just because I could be killed! They'll find a way to cheer me on, no matter what! A-And…And they won't be broken! T-They might even support me! And…And I won't be lonely anymore! N-No more! A-And…And…"

Silence came from Gilbert himself, the boy stopping himself with light hiccups, finding that his own eyes were wetting themselves once again; but there was another reason for his muteness, his stopping-of-speech:

Elizabeta's steel-tight embrace, and her own sobs.

"…You…You are so strong…Y-You…You must be careful though…A part of me…believes that you will be able to…make changes, even if I think you should not." She sniffled, her hands pulling the child closer to her bosom, "Gilbert…Just do not let yourself be taken by them, when the years come and go and you…get the courage to try something."

"So you think I'll do it?"

"After hearing that…if…if you do not change greatly with age, I know you will do it."

"But should I? D-Do you…Do you know what's gonna happen?"

"I do not. And I do not know the answer to your first question either. But eventually…those answers will be revealed to us, one way or another."

It was in the silence that followed Elizabeta's statement did Gilbert find himself drowning in the emotion that had seized his heart mere moments before; that vulnerability, the sense that he would spend years and years without a real companion, someone he could talk to on a constant basis—That had been Antonio, once, but deep down, the albino knew that there were some things he could never tell the boy with the tanner skin-he could not speak of every single thing, every single emotion to the elder boy. Maybe what he was craving was not just an ordinary friend; was there more to the puzzle of his heart, a puzzle that had been smashed with the creation of Divine Rule by Germa?

It was almost as if he wanted a _brother_…The most loyal person he could obtain _would _be a brother…

…Or a lover—If eight year olds could have lovers.

And the white-haired child was impatient; he could not wait any longer, he could not stand the loneliness further, and while the mulling-over-of-these-emotions occurred, a hazy recollection came once again to the surface; the memory of a letter, written in desperation, and its hiding between two small stones…

"…M-Miss Elizabeta, there is something I gotta do."

"Hmm? What do you mean—GILBERT!"

The boy had neither waited for the question to finish, nor for the opening of where he would have to explain—that was an opening the child longed to avoid; instead, the albino was able to squirm out of the woman's embrace, and took off into a run, hoping with all his heart that Elizabeta would dare not follow him.

This hope did not turn out to be false—Elizabeta stood her ground, realizing it was a futile attempt to stop the boy (When was it not a futile attempt to stop him at _anything_?); instead, the brunette female only deigned to shout out,

"Just be back before sunset, Gilbert! Or you will not hear the end of it from me, I swear that!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, heh." He could not help but smirk; Gilbert would be back before the orb in the sky disappeared, for when was he not? If the child had any 'talent' or 'thing' going for him, it was his speed, his dexterity, and it did not help that his destination was not far from his starting point—And it was hard to miss the Wall. Plus, Gilbert was famished, he would be back before supper, even if he had to kick an adult male in the nether regions to return to the orphanage.

What was tricky, what was an obstacle, was finding his exact destination; damn the Wall builders, for all of the stones looked _exactly alike_…

"Fuckers."

The red-eyed lad would have to solve this conundrum the hard way—by walking down the side of the Wall, hand on the surface, feeling; he had an estimate as to where the hole had been, so that did give some assistance. But Gilbert spent at least five minutes searching, before his tired fingers felt looser stones…and a smooth sheet of paper accompanying them.

Jerkily, the stones were slid aside, the small piece of parchment falling to the ground, and the instant the scene hit Gilbert's irises, he knew that this was not his letter, not the letter he had left in the Wall in desperation. No, this sheet was pure-as-snow when it came to its hue, its texture fresh, far from worn and yellow.

…_Someone responded…?_

The eight year old wondered such a thought with part-naivety, part-joy, and part-feeling-aghast; putting the letter into the Wall had just been mainly a spontaneous action, with little thought put into it—it was more than a joke, but less than a serious plot. It was…just a silly little hope, if Gilbert thought about it properly.

But here was someone who had actually taken the time to write back…It was more than Gilbert had hoped for, definitely; it was just enough to bring a smile to his face, and for his heart to take a leap of enjoyment to the sky.

What the letter said as well was just as enlightening; So…Ludwig, eh? That was the kid's name? It was obvious it was a youth, what with the style of handwriting, and the shortness of his sentences. But Gilbert preferred that—he would rather have a similar youth speak to him rather than an adult, since most adults looked down upon him with disdain, and would test his dexterity with pushes and sneers.

But here was someone seemingly innocent—well, as Innocent as a Necessity could be, in the albino's mind; this boy was lonely? Really? Did he even know what real loneliness _was_? Perhaps this was just a joke to the secret 'Ludwig', whoever he was; maybe he was toying with Gilbert, taking advantage of him, deep down, between all the kind words and lines.

…_You're being negative, again…_

But he had been molded into a negative being, could you blame him for questioning anyone who wanted to speak with him? When the majority of people who had, in all of his eight years, had done nothing but talk down to him?

A languid sigh escaped Gilbert's lips; he could ignore this Ludwig, let it go, and put it off as a futile attempt that had resulted in a poor joke. He had not expected any sort of response, and figured that, if he did get one, it would be a joke.

...Or he could…try.

Maybe he just needed try, and take a _chance_…

And maybe the eight year old was tired of being sad…being alone…

He was becoming 'sappy' once again, and to deter the emotions, the boy let out a snort, digging into his pockets for a stubby pencil and yellow piece of paper; he always carried them around, mainly in case he saw something 'awesome!' and wanted to remember it for a future diary entry later that night. But now, in this later afternoon, he wrote a different sort of note,

_Ludwig, eh? Bit of a pansy name, but I suppose I'll let that slide, heh._

_Lonely? You're lonely? Shit, you don't live over HERE. What's got you all down and out, kid? By the way, how old are you? And when did ya respond to my last letter? What time?_

_- Gilbert _

Slowly, red orbs traced over the words that had flowed too easily; they had come from the heart, and that idea made Gilbert's eyebrow twitch. He was being honest, he was being horribly honest, and that was an emotion the child had rarely delved in during his lifetime.

The letter, like its brothers, was placed in the crack of the wall with the utmost care, and the moment the task was completed, Gilbert found himself wishing he could do more—maybe now that someone was actually beginning to speak to him in a somewhat kind manner, it was becoming a type of drug—an addiction— and that was why he responded here and now? And hoped, and planned to, respond to the next letter Ludwig gave to him?

That was all well and good—delightfully sweet emotions caused the child to smile at the ground, finally finding some happiness in God-knows-how-long. Although his letter had a bit of a teasing tone, as they all would come to have, there was more curiosity than anything within them. He wanted to know what this boy was suffering from. What could be so bad to a _Necessity_ child?

Gilbert knew the answer would not come right away, he would have to wait at least another twenty-four hours, maybe a tad more, maybe a tad less. Or would he be able to sneak out early tomorrow morning? Yes, yes, that would be the goal he would aim for.

So although it was early in the afternoon, and Miss Elizabeta would not be serving their evening meal for some time, the albino boy figured he could stand the torture to come—for there was to be a bright star come morning, if Ludwig responded quick enough, which, in secret prayers in his joyous brain, was being hoped for.

So he put up with the calling of his name in jeers as he returned to the orphanage, along with eating alone in his room that night; the only joy came from Antonio sneaking away from his own orphanage, and knocking on the lone window in Gilbert's bedroom, for a sharing of a joke or two before bedtime.

But there did come a joy because of Gilbert having his own room—well, two actually. He was able to write about Ludwig in his diary, his most recent book, covered in yellow paper, his favorite shade of the rainbow, his name scribbled across the cover in a chicken-scratch fashion.

But he could also keep Ludwig's first letter in safe keeping—under his pillow, for now. He would bother and bother his caretaker tomorrow, for a spare chest, and would obtain it after fifteen minutes of whining—but of course, Gilbert never referred to it as 'whining'. He had too much pride.

But for now…it rested under a pillow, hard and cold, but somehow made softer by the fact that there was some kindness present within the sphere of Gilbert's life.

And sleep was not a problem for the child this night, for he was anxious to slumber, and awaken for the coming morn—when he would receive a surprise, a surprise that would make him quite, quite shocked, a little bit happy and giggly and giddy, and just a little bit peeved.

The moon watched over him, for once—normally, the clouds covered up the sky, and Nyx's pearl would only shine upon the land of the Necessities; but, here, and now, upon this night…

Gilbert was receiving a blessing from the Goddess herself…

* * *

And it was no over-exaggeration when it came to stating that Gilbert would receive a surprise come morn; he had snuck out of the Orphanage come sunrise, just a little after seven in dew-strewn daybreak. His window had been loosened last night after Antonio had departed, and now the boy with the light-gray-hued hair wiggled out of the open hole, placing the window back down carefully, careful not to disturb any of the other children—Tommy was known to have very good ears.

This was not the first time the orphan had snuck out of his makeshift home—half the time it had been to get away from all of the harassment, and sit in privacy at his swing set; but now here he was, running down the mainly empty streets, with another destination in mind.

The Worthless rarely awoke early, save for the few workers who began at this time; the plethora of the population would not begin the days until eight or nine, for when there is nothing to live for, why awaken and live early? Only those who had been graced with a job that was worth waking up early for were walking the streets now, and none of them paid Gilbert any mind as he ran towards the Wall, and as he began searching for the chink in the Wall once again.

He had marked the spot before departing yesterday, by grabbing a nearby stone, and scratching a white 'x' across the Wall—and there it was once again, sticking out like a sore thumb, and carefully, pallid hands moved the loosened stones aside, and yes—there was a fresh letter, Ludwig had responded!

'_Pansy'? That is quite mean! Ludwig was my great-grandfather's name! _

…_Anyway, I am six years old. And you ask why I am lonely?_

_My father does not care for me—he is obsessed with his work, his power; those are the things he likes and loves in his life, he only sees me as someone to carry on for him when he dies._

_My mother spends every day locked up in her bedroom. I don't know the exact cause of her pain, but I hear her crying every time I walk past her room—she sobs, and looks at me with such hurt. I am ignored by her, and when I do see her face, it holds nothing but coldness. Sometimes I hear the word 'depression' associated with her, but I do not know what that particularly means. Do you know, Gilbert? _

_I do not even know why I have told you all of this, haha. You do not want to know how I see my Mother cry, and how I see her makeup smear her face. You do not want to picture my father's malice, and I don't want you to either. That was not why I wanted to write back to you, to tell you all my problems._

_So please do not feel…upset or burdened. Please, tell me more about you._

_And I responded to your letters—both of them—in the afternoon, about four P.M._

_- Ludwig_

Gilbert was floored for multiple reasons. Here was a six year old boy—whose intelligence shocked the albino's core—that had…nearly Nothing. Or at least, that was what it sounded like. For if a child has uncaring parents, or no parents, what _does _a child have? Speaking from heartfelt experience, Gilbert knew the answer—nothing.

…_Maybe not all of them feel as if they are Necessities…_

_From the tone of his letter, it certainly seems that Ludwig does not…_

At first, he had been prepared to write a scathing return letter, stating that Ludwig knew nothing of loneliness—but the orphan had been wrong, so wrong, horribly wrong! So his response was…a tad different:

…_Wow._

_I…I never expected you to tell me all of that, Ludwig. I gotta admit, I was ready to fucking curse you out, expecting some sort of stupid excuses that Necessities are known for. I know…differently now._

_Can I be frank? Your parents sound like shit—I'm sorry, but they do. How could they do all of that to you? You seem like a…decent kid. At the least, that could be a way to describe you. I mean..I think you're…good. I don't know what you look like, but you…are actually talking to ME. A fucking eight year old who lives at a shit orphanage, who doesn't have a damn friend, except for another kid who is rumored to be a bit…off, if ya get my drift. _

…_You don't have any friends, do you? Don't take that the wrong way, but c'mon—you're talking to a dude on the other side of the Wall. It's okay, I know what you're feelin'._

_I was gonna say that at least you have parents, but you kinda don't, do you? So hey, we're in the same boat there! Oh, and depression? I'm not sure, but…maybe it's some form of constant sadness? That's what I get from yer description of her._

_I'm writin' this in the early morning. The sunrises suck over here, there's too many clouds. How about you? And I guess we'll eventually develop a pattern, here, with writing. Who knows—we might even get to meet each other as we put the letters in, heh._

_- Gilbert _

It was already becoming a tradition—sliding the letter into place between the rocks, a small smile on the older child's face, even as he stepped away from the Wall; he was learning so much about someone he had never even met face-to-face, but why? Was it the anonymity that the Wall gave them? Was that the reason?

…Or was it that they just finally, after needing someone to listen to them, each had found said person…?

They were just children, innocent children for the most part—there was no need to hide things from each other, there was no reason they should not openly state what their lives were like with one another.

Maybe it was all of the above, and _more_…

He still had time before the others would awaken at Elizabeta's orphanage, so Gilbert took the time to wander around the side of the Empire that held little for him; there was a miasmic fog that danced between his toes as he walked, his worn black boots making a tick-tock rhythm on the cobblestones.

The idea came to him to traverse towards Antonio's orphanage—it was about three blocks away from his own, in a bit of a larger home, since the majority of the children who lived there were not only plentiful in number, but in age. The brunette boy himself was ten years of age, a tad older than Gilbert, a fact that sometimes bothered the albino child.

He was not a minute away from his impromptu destination when a voice called out to him, in a jovial tone,

"Gilbert?"

Red eyes glanced over a knobby shoulder to see Antonio himself running towards Gilbert, the younger of the two speaking,

"Heh. And here I thought I was the only one who snuck out early, Antonio."

The child in question let out a soft laugh, his accent decorating his words; the boy had been from another Empire, farther to the south, across the Roma Sea. His parents, having moved to the Holy Empire in the time of Fritz's rule, had been prosperous—until they had been killed during Germa's overtaking. Carriedo had been their last name, and still was the surname of Antonio, he having been placed in an orphanage with the Worthless, due to his tan-esque skin, and the accent of his people.

"Ah, silly Gilbert. I was the one who taught you how to sneak out of your own prison, why would I not do it when it came to my own?"

The albino merely rolled his eyes, "Whatever. But where are you coming from?"

"Oh, just around." Antonio danced around Gilbert, a foolish grin plastered to his face, and by now, the younger of the two knew what that smile meant—Antonio had a secret in that little, sometimes pea-sized brain of his, and he was egging Gilbert on.

"Oh? Just around? Spill it, _Anty_, what'd you hear?"

Because their pastimes and fun were few and far between here in the land of the Worthless, the boys had taken to listening to gossip of their elders—it was a girlish pastime, but it was something that did bring them laughs. Even more so when it was something about the Necessities—people that Antonio rarely hid his disdain for, and neither had Gilbert—until he started receiving correspondence from Ludwig.

For that boy was beginning to slowly change his opinion of the people on the other side—or at least, some of them.

"Ohh, I have heard a funny little joke!"

"Then spill it! I ain't got all day, Carriedo."

Antonio laughed, "You're so impatient. Well, you will like this one. It has to do with the Main Bastard himself."

"…His Highness?" That had been their nickname for King Germa for…how long? It seemed forever, really.

"Oh, yes, yes! It seems his little boy has been sneaking off!"

Gilbert quirked an eyebrow, "Why should I care about Germa's brat? Pompous kid probably gets whatever the fuck he wants."

"You would think so, yes? But _apparently_…" Antonio bent down lower, whispering in a conspiratorial manner, "He has been skipping out on his tutoring sessions, in a way. Rebelling against his father."

"…And I care, why?"

"I'm getting to the good part, sheesh!" The boy with the curly-brown hair pouted, "Some say he has been sneaking off to be near the Wall. No one is sure as to what he is exactly doing there, but some say he has been touching the Wall in an odd manner. And he has been acting quite odd; some say he also has been acting distant when it comes to the others at the castle."

"…" For some reason, for some emotion he could not name specifically, and could only label it as a fear, Gilbert felt himself swallowing, blinking, his mind internally starting to turn its gears, "Where…did you hear this?"

"Well, you know the fruit-seller down the way? He heard it from an elder who still has connections to someone on the other side of the Wall; apparently they sometimes are able to exchange conversation through a tiny hole in the Wall. Did you know that those have been appearing more and more often? Seems the stone is not holding up as well as the Main Bastard would have liked."

"…I see…" It could not be—right? A little boy who was…touching the Wall in an interesting manner? It could not be his…

"…You alright, Gilbert? You seem a tad pale."

"I-I'm fine…Hey, uh…quick question."

"Hmm?"

"What's that brat's name, anyway?"

Antonio blinked, "You do not remember his son's name? Ludwig, of course."

And a lightning bolt struck through Gilbert's entire lithe body at the dropping of that name, blood-hued eyes turning as wide as Elizabeta's supper plates and bowls.

…_No…Does that mean I was…_

_I have been…talking to…The Prince of the Empire…_

_I…I…Oh God…_

Gilbert was torn between feeling sick, and feeling nauseous—not a great difference of emotions, yes?

"G-Gilbert? What's wrong?" The albino had sunk to one knee, fingers covering pale lips, as the realization was hitting him hard and fast, like a train wreck.

…_And he did not TELL ME…He specifically left it out of his letters…He worked his way AROUND saying who his parents were…_

…_.I don't know whether I should be pissed or relieved…_

_But I do know one thing: I need an explanation….And I need it now._

And that was his reason for bolting away from Antonio, despite the elder calling out to him, Gilbert's face turned into a semi-scowl; he needed a reason for this, and for it now.

Gilbert knew Antonio could be referring to another 'Ludwig'—and that his Ludwig was just a normal kid, who had crap parents.

…But then again…

_He said his father was obsessed with 'power'…What if he is…H-He has to be…_

He had made it to the Wall in record time, jerking out the letter that had not been taken and read, thereby ripping it to shreds; there was a spare piece of paper in the lad's pocket, and it was ripped out, being written on with fast and angry strokes, Gilbert scowling at the Wall itself as he shoved the letter into the wall.

Rage and relief were at war—On one hand, it did not seem as if Germa's son was that horrible of a brat as he had presumed all along; but then again, he had hidden this fact from Gilbert, while the latter had been entirely open, wanting to be open from the get-go. So what did that mean?

The albino leaned against the Wall, cradling his worn and wan head in even more worn hands; what did this mean now? Could the Gods not give him at least some sort of break? Any sort of break at _all_?

There was a rumbling overhead, and Gilbert turned to see the sky darkening fast—what a surprise. The rain that had failed to arrive yesterday was now coming forth, as the first drop plummeted, hitting his nose as an impromptu target.

"…" He wanted to curse to the sky; why him? Why did the target of his correspondence have to be the _Prince_? Was this all a trap? What if it _was_? Would he be in danger? What if his name had already been given to someone of Importance?

Damn, he did not know what to do—And there was no retracting that new letter, not in this type of anger, not right now. And there was a great certainty that it would not be disturbed by the rain, so why bother now?

All he could do was head back to the Orphanage—he did not even have the will to return to Antonio; and there was nothing left for him to do, for now.

All Gilbert could do was wait, and hope that an answer would come shortly—he would return that evening, and seek—and pray for—an answer; an answer to the secrecy, the hidden words, the hidden identities; there had to be a reason for not stating such an important fact, right?

There was nothing left for Gilbert to do but to wait…Wait and Wait…

…That seemed to be what his entire life consisted of: waiting.

Waiting for a friend, waiting for a meal, waiting for a God's mercy…

When would it end…?

Would he be waiting forever…? If he decided to still speak with Ludwig, would he still be waiting then…? Waiting—yearning—for the next letter?

It seemed probable, and very, _very_ possible.

…He could only hope for one thing:

That if that type of yearning was to occur, that it would be…somewhat happy and delightful. That he would become anxious for the next letter, the next laugh and the next admittance of the truth.

…_Truth…_

A part of Gilbert did not know what the truth was anymore—he had figured that this boy was just…ordinary. But now he was speaking with the Prince, he just knew it…

Could this…still work? Could the Prince just want…his friendship? His loyalty? Were his parents that bat-shit insane?

_Maybe…_

Only a towel welcomed him as he returned 'home', daring not to awaken the others as he crawled back into bed, throwing off his wet clothes, for the rain had come down in a downpour during the journey back to the building.

The sheets were just as cold as the pillow, and the chill in Gilbert's heart did nothing to aid them in obtaining warmth; nor did the idea of pulling out Ludwig's letter to gaze upon the handwriting, as he wondered and worried.

He could not return to the land of Dreams—It was early, and although the others were slumbering, the boy with the silver hair could far from find his way there. So the remaining hours, until Elizabeta rang the breakfast bell, were spent mute, without much movement, for the boy remained sitting in bed, instances going over in his mind, each one leading down to a pathway of the Unknown.

…God help him if he was in trouble…

…And God help him, he wanted this to be just a _normal_ idea, a normal _friend_—as normal as it could get, anyway…

He would get answers, though—that evening, they would fall upon his lap, and would be heavy like the bricks of Germa's castle.

For evenings and mornings afterwards, he would gain new information, new insight into the little boy who was seeking him out, wishing for someone to listen, to care…

…And Gilbert would make many decisions—many, many decisions. Decisions that would change his outlook on multiple items of importance…

But for now, all he could do was long for the Truth…

And Pray that it was not that Painful…

* * *

"_If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light._

_If I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls. I will write always. _

_I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you."_

_- Henry Rollins_

* * *

A/N: And there's chapter two! : D Sorry it took so long, guys.

Just a quick note: The next chapter will be completely written in the form of their letters back and forth to one another. Other chapters will be done like this as well in the future :3

Also, there's a poll on the profile for you guys—What are your favorite Shakespearean tragedies?

Thanks so much for reading! And for the feedback, guys, it's really appreciated. See you soon!


	3. Honor and Honesty

A/N: And here we go, right on to chapter three, my friends!

As stated before, this chapter is letter format—with just a few lines of narration in between. Regular chapter next time! Let me know what you think, since more chapters will be written like this. Since they are letters, they are in italics as well.

Song Inspiration:

- "One Day I'll Fly Away", from the Moulin Rouge Soundtrack (Nicole Kidman)

- "Stupid Boy", by Keith Urban (I have really no idea why this fit XD Or why this inspired me; maybe it's his singing in general).

- "Hallelujah", by Rufus Wainwright (There's a certain letter from Gil to Lud that corresponds with this—if you guess which one, and are right, you'll be mentioned next chapter, and get free e-cookies!)

- "Goodnight Goodnight" by Maroon 5 (Inspired the ending)

* * *

_"What's in a name? _

_That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet"_

_- William Shakespeare, __Romeo and Juliet__, 2.2_

* * *

_When were you going to tell me who you REALLY were? You bastard._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_I…do not follow. Please, explain, Gilbert._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

He really did follow. Of course Ludwig did; he was not idiotic. By the tart tone of Gilbert's note, he knew the truth had come out, somehow. And now the blonde cherub would have to face it, as if he was in the Lion's den.

* * *

_You do too know what I mean! You're the fucking PRINCE of that bastard! That bastard who is responsible for me BEING over here! When were you going to tell me that, Lud? Huh? Never? Or when you had me hung for even speaking to you?_

_- Gilbert_

* * *

…_Oh, oh Gilbert. I…Please, do not be upset, I can explain. And I was never planning on hurting you, I swear!_

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Well? Then get to explaining, you prick, instead of writing me fucking short letters like that last one. I snuck out when it was nearly ten-thirty, nearly got caught, only to find THAT._

_Do I sound amused? Because I am not._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Gilbert, p__lease, do not be sad! Do not be upset, I really can explain! _

_I did not want you to know, that is why. I knew you would become upset and scared—I would, if I had been you._

_People fear me, and I did not want you to fear me! You have to believe me! If you knew the truth, from the v-very beginning…I do not want to even think about that._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_But didn't ya think that I'd find out, Lud? Eventually? I mean, they say I'm stupid, but I'm really not THAT stupid._

…_Fine, I guess I can understand why you wouldn't tell me. I was…okay, I'll tell you this, but you have to __swear__ (See the underlining?) to not tell anyone!_

_I was really, really scared when I found out you were __The__ Ludwig; I figured you'd call me a Traitor or some shit and have my head cut off and put on…whatever those pointy things are called. _

…_But how can I trust you, now? I…I want to. I really do. But how can I, if you weren't going to tell me this?  
_

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Gilbert, I would never have done that to you. Never! But I have received that image, apparently. It is one of the reasons I wrote back to you in the first place. The other…kids here. I am not liked by them, not at all. I wanted to start fresh, with someone who did not know me, who could not see me—Not that I…do not want you to see me. It is one of the many things I would like._

_Gilbert, a spike? You thought I was going to put your head on a SPIKE? Why would I do that!_

…_Trust. You do not trust me now. I…I understand that. I do. I wouldn't trust me, either. All I can do is say this:_

I'm sorry.

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Yeah, yeah, spike—That was it. Nice, bloody spike, my guts pouring down it like a fucking fountain. THAT was the image in my head._

_See me? Okay, I'm flattered, but one—that's a little bit of an odd thing to say right away, isn't it? And trust? Trust? Good point, at the moment, I don't trust you. And how am I to know that you are the real Ludwig Beilschmidt, Heir to the Holy Empire's throne, eh? What if you're some pedophile who is just wanting to take me away and rape me in some…some abandoned house by the docks? Or some Necessities' warehouse? Or sell me to a whorehouse, huh?_

Prove to me that I can trust you again. Prove to me that you are who I think you are, who I hope you are.

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_That image was unneeded, Gilbert! Most, most, unneeded! As was the one about you being raped!_

_Alright, I shall prove it to you. This letter includes some of the Roses of the Empirical Garden, which I assume you have heard of? It is a large garden, with many bushes upon bushes of roses—but have you been taught that it is the only place in the Empire where you can find yellow roses, and blue roses as well? Blue roses, I was taught early on, were only to be found in the Britannia Empire, but years ago, my mother had seeds imported. Now, in this letter, I shall include two roses within this letter, tucked in the crack of the Wall._

_Please, trust me. I am who I say I am. _

_And I swear that I shall never harm you._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

Just as Ludwig said, they were there; two roses, covered in drops of due as pallid hands sneaked them out carefully from their hiding spots. One, the color of the golden orb that brought Day; the flower could have been spawned from Eos' womb itself. The other, the hue of Poseidon's sea, blue—Blue for Britannia, but in this case, Blue for the Empire.

In Gilbert's heart, strings twanged, twanged a melody of joy, relief—the boy he was speaking to was being truthful—no normal mortal, no regular evil foe, could have brought him these two roses. Despite being somewhat wrinkled and crushed, for they had to have fitted in that tiny crack with the letter, the flora were still mainly whole beings.

Emotions clutched his youthful heart; the boy was who he was after all, and that brought a smile to Gilbert's lips. Who would have thought? He was so used to being the butt of trickery, but this was a lucky break after all.

* * *

_Alright, I get it—And I do trust you. And I guess I kinda sorta accept your apology, heh. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a boy who sends me flowers, Hahaha._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Hmph. Of course, you would make a joke out of something like that. You will, in years, win the hearts of __many__ ladies with that attitude._

_Besides that…thanks. I was hoping you would accept my apology. _

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Wow, someone knows sarcasm, don't they? Impressive—and here I thought you were just a stiff kid who couldn't even laugh, heh. And hey, I gotta have some humor—on this Side, if you don't laugh, you won't survive at all._

_You know, I have got to ask—What did you mean earlier by you wanted to see me? Did you really mean…see me? As in face-to-face? And how the hell could you—or how could WE?—get that to happen?_

_You're a kid with dreams that are pretty out there, aren't you?_

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_You said that you had to have humor—On this side, you must have dreams as well. Or, at least I have to. Gilbert, I am expected to follow my Father—so I must have my own dreams. And wishing to see you is one of them, even if it is 'pretty out there', as you have said._

_Gilbert, if we are to be friends, one day, I shall want to see you—know what you look like, hear your voice. For it is quite lonely here, do you understand? I am sure you do._

_Call it a petty dream, if you wish, call it silly. I suppose we will have to stay "Pen-Pals" for awhile at least-holes within the Wall are few and far between._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Well, I dunno about that bit about holes—I've heard rumors that holes are popping up more and more frequently. Seems like your Pop didn't know all of what he was fucking doing. _

_And what I look like? Well, I guess I can tell ya that I have red eyes, bright red, and my hair's a mix of white and silver—Yeah, yeah, I'm an albino, and I bet your little itty bitty heart is just hyperventilating now, innit? So are you SURE you want to see me, heh? Think on it, kid, trust me._

_- Gilbert_

_

* * *

_

_Ah, an albino—so that is why you are over there. I was wondering why you were. I figured it had something to do with your appearance; an eight year old would not be put over there for personality, I presume. But then again…who knows? My father does not speak to me often, so I cannot truly say._

_You are lucky, in a way—I am…well, I shall be honest. I am boring to an extent. Burying myself in books, classic looks with blue eyes and blonde hair…You at least are different, unique…It is something I hope you hold on to. And yes—I am sure I want to see you._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Uniqueness? Wow, there's a new way to think of it. It's hard to consider yourself unique when you are Nothingness—I have never felt unique, Ludwig, never. I have felt as if I am just a leftover human, thrown over here because of my looks—They preach that how I look is satanic, vampire-like! That I am…Nothing. _

_I don't even have a last name, Ludwig—How can I be considered unique when I do not even know who I am?  
_

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_You have lost your last name? Interesting, I never heard of that practice. _

_And I think you are unique—Your speech shows that quite too well._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Sheesh, that was a short letter. What gives, Lud?_

_And of course they aren't gonna tell ya; you're six. They probably think you're a dumb little brat. Or maybe they just don't want to tell you the whole truth._

_And my…speech? What, me knowing the word 'fuckers' makes me unique? Kesesese…_

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Forgive the shortness of my last letter; my tutor was calling for me, and I believed at the time that he was actually close to my location, so I had to write fast. Also, I am sorry the letter was written so poorly, handwriting-wise. _

_I had not figured my age was a factor—my intelligence has always been extremely unorthodox and not parallel to my age; if anything, Father would not want the whole truth told to me—he wishes for me to inherit what he has begun, and if I know the minute, yet horrendous, details, in his eyes it may make me 'less fierce'. What he does not know is that I am not an immediate follower of him; I am not blind to his actions like my tutor Roderich, or weak like my mother, Her Majesty Grace Beilschmidt. I shall carve my own pathway—and I believe that speaking with you shall help me, Gilbert._

…_You are unique in a special way. You seem…different from others that I have met, and I do not just mean because of your looks. _

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Well, ch'yeah, your intelligence shows; I had to ask someone what in God's name the word 'unorthodox' meant over here, and they looked at me as if I was fucking batty. _

_God, your Dad's a fruit-cake; I don't know if I should be grateful that I don't have a Dad or not—are they all like yours? Haha!_

_Your tutor sounds like a pussy, by the way. Tell him I said so._

_Aw, I'm flattered, Lud. No, actually, I sorta am. No one gives me compliments like that—but the question is, do you think my differences are good? I mean, I think they're AWESOME, but you…?_

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Unorthodox means unusual, not of the norm. Do not take this the wrong way, but do you read often? And to answer your question, no, I do not believe all fathers are like mine. I was just…'blessed', as he never fails to remind me. And I hope you could sense the sarcasm there, Gilbert._

…_I think I shall NOT tell Roderich you said that, alright?_

_Do you always write 'awesome' in full capital letters? Please warn me ahead of time, for I can guess that you do. And of course your differences are good—you are good person, yes?  
_

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Well, I dunno if I'd call myself 'good'—I don't steal (Unless I have to), I don't cheat (Unless it gets that bastard Tommy in trouble), and I don't commit high felonies. But last time I checked, there's half an Empire who thinks I'm shit._

_Aww, tell him for me! Please, please, please! Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase!_

_And YES! I do write AWESOME in full capital letters. Ain't it AWESOME?_

_What do you mean by 'do I read a lot'? S'not like I can get a LOT of books over here, we're flat-fucking-broke. But I guess I read when I can…?_

_- Gilbert_

* * *

It was after this letter did the albino not receive one from his companion for two days; worry struck the child's heart when he repeatedly found his own correspondence in their 'mailbox'. Had Ludwig been found writing to him? Was he being punished for writing to a Worthless? Oh…Oh the possibilities, the gruesome possibilities, they filled the surname-less boy's head! They made sleep more difficult, eating more tiresome, and speaking to others not even worth it.

Relief finally came for Gilbert, though, in a short, terse letter…

_

* * *

_

_I am never, EVER doing something for you again._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_WHAT? After two days of not hearing from you, THAT is all you can say? What the hell happened, Lud? I've been fucking worried sick that my only close friend was at the bottom of a well or something!_

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_For your information, your begging and whining got to me; I eventually told Roderich what you said, and when I failed to give him 'my incompetent friend's' name, he grounded me for two days! He assumed I called him a pansy! I swear upon the grave of Fritz that I am never, ever doing something for you again! _

_- Ludwig _

* * *

_Wait, you actually said it to him? Oh man, that…that's unbelievable! Wow, you did that for me? You're awesome! Well, pretty awesome—maybe not as much as ME, but that's just amazing, Lud. You're alright, kid, you're alright. A pretty cool kid._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

Miles away, though Gilbert did not know it, the little blonde prince was blushing with pride at the elder boy's compliments—and found it strange that he could not stay that mad at his friend. Not to mention Gilbert had stated that he was his only close friend; that statement alone brought an elephant-esque ton of torturous joy to the child's heart.

Friend…A word he never thought someone would apply to him.

Now, with all his might, Ludwig would be damned if that title would be taken away from him.

* * *

_Well, I suppose I find it hard to say 'no' to someone who is…so eager…Thank you for the compliments, though; I have never been called 'awesome' by anyone before. But just do…do not expect a similar incident to happen!_

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Yeah, yeah, you say that now, but c'mon—you can't say 'no' to ME._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Yes, I can: No._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Wow, what a sense of humor. I'm rolling on the floor, laughing my brains out. Seriously._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Your sense of sarcasm needs work, Gilbert. Though I will be the first to admit that it did give me a laugh or two._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

…_For some reason, I wonder if I should be insulted. You weren't laughing at anything negative of mine, right? Like me being stupid?_

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Dearest Gilbert, if I wished to call you stupid, I would be blunt and tell you that you were stupid, not laugh and think it. And no, you are not going to be called stupid by me; I may think it, and maybe ONE day I shall say it, but not right now._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Well…uh, thanks. For the blunt honesty. Not sure if I needed it, though. _

_Please TRY to refrain from calling me stupid, though I doubt that, if you want to, you would hold yourself back._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Well, I am sure that you have heard that honesty is the best policy, yes? So you should be happy that I am not lying to you, Gilbert. _

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Happy isn't EXACTLY the word I would have used, but alright. Sure, we can use 'happy'—everybody else I've known has lied to me at some point, even if it was something simple. You don't want to hear about that, though. You just don't._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Yes, I do._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_What the hell? I wait all day for a response and that's all you write? And what do you mean, 'Yes, I do'!_

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_I mean that I want to know who has lied to you in the past; we spoke of honesty just recently, so why can you not be fully honest with me?_

_Also, just because my intelligence is that of a nine or ten year old, I am in a six year old's body, and have that sort of attention span—some letters will be shorter. Besides, just writing that got to the point, did it not?_

_- Ludwig_

_

* * *

_

_You don't want to know about the others lies I've had to deal with, and that's that._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Aw, now who is using short letters to get to the point? Heh._

_- Ludwig_

_

* * *

_

_Oh, shut up. And wipe that royal smirk off your face. I can picture it all the way from over here, and even if I haven't seen your face before. And I won't tell you if I don't want to, so let it go!_

_- Gilbert_

_

* * *

_

_Oh, but Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase, Gilbert? Pretty please?_

_- Ludwig_

* * *

…_I hate you so much right now. You're making fun of me, aren't you!_

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Perhaps just a little, haha. But really, please? We have been honest this far, why stop now?_

_-Ludwig_

* * *

_Fine, fine, you begging little bastard—I swear, if you were my younger brother, or cousin or SOMETHING, I'd ground you; put you in the corner, and send you to bed without your fucking royal supper. Even if I wasn't your mom or dad, I'd do it. I'm older so I'd get that privilege, hmph!_

_It's really nothin' THAT big—I hope you don't…well, go and order people to be hung for this. We just get lied to a lot around here. Sometimes it's unintentional—they'll tell us at the Orphanage that we'll be having dessert on a certain night, and nothing comes. I don't blame my caretaker Elizaveta for those, I guess. But it's everyone else's lies that hurts. They promised me that my other friend would be able to stay with me, his name is Antonio, but they moved him to another orphanage. I think we're becoming overcrowded over here, in a way. There's too many of US, and not enough of people like YOU. People that you don't have to send over. Did you know that they are still sending people over? If a dumb baby is born, it comes here; there's been more and more of those coming each month. If a child can't keep up in YOUR schools, they have to come HERE. I don't know how Miss Elizaveta can teach so many. _

_And if a family loses all their money, YOUR guards send them HERE. They break down a part of the Wall, and send them over here, and rebuild the Wall as fast as possible, with as much gusto as the fuckers can manage to get. They have to hold the others back; because it's a big deal when someone gets moved over, and sometimes people from YOUR side try to run and find us, and the opposite happens too._

_I have—no, WE have—been lied to since we were born. We were promised honor, fucking HONOR, fucking pride, happiness; we had faith in a leader that would take care of us, that would lead us down the march of victory. We are left with nothing. Our births were lies—we were promised Paradise; instead we're left wondering when God will give a damn about us anymore. _

_There are no more Gods, in my eyes. And in so many eyes. I'm tired of hearing people cry for their families at night. I'm tired of hearing poor Miss Elizaveta sob in her bedroom, and whisper the name of some guy who I can't remember at the moment. We're tired of having to fight for everything just to survive. We're tired of the cold food, colder beds, and the coldest attitudes that most of US have._

_And me…Maybe I'm just tired of it all. You wanted to know about the fucking lies that I hear? I was lied to by the Gods—they all said we were beautiful, equal; apparently They were wrong. Maybe They don't exist in general; your father burnt down the Churches to them. _

_Maybe I'm tired of waiting to be saved, too. Every day, you get that little tiny glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, something good will happen. Then you realize you're just dreaming like a damn idiot again. _

_Lives here are lies—we're living lies, and we don't know what to do._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

Tiny, princely hands clutched the letter; the letter that secretly had, or were at least unbeknownst to Gilbert, most likely, tear stains upon it. It was obvious that the albino child had cried while writing this—it was not just a rant, it was the truth. The Holy truth, and it caused Ludwig's own eyes to wet themselves out of remorse.

The younger's life was no cakewalk, and both children knew that—but Ludwig lived in a castle, had delicious dinners every night; he was able to walk in gardens of roses and lilies, and read novels of aged years without much care. Although he was in solitude a great amount of the time, it was _peaceful _solitude. He need not fight for anything, or anyone; he had grown used to his parents being how they were, and he _did_ have Roderich, if it came down to it, and if he needed someone right there.

So he could wait to be 'saved'—Gilbert could not, though. Gilbert, his dearest, albino friend, who had done nothing wrong; who had just been born this way, was in danger, had been in danger, and could be in danger if anything like this persisted.

He knew about the people still being placed on the Other Side; news traveled fast in the Empire, which was not that big to begin with. Germa was a proud bastard about that sort of activity, and almost relished in the fact that he was destroying lives—no, no 'almost'; he _did_ relish.

The letter was gripped tightly to a chest—although weeks and months later Gilbert would apologize for upsetting the Beilschmidt boy in such a way, that did not matter to Ludwig; his mind was already making up a decision that would affect the rest of his life. His eight-year old pen pal was his friend, his true friend, his only friend, who was honest, blunt, crude, and had the eyes of fire, and the hair of snow, if Gilbert was truthful on his descriptions; he cared about this child—and Ludwig had never actually cared about someone else before, not to his extent.

His parents were nearly nonexistent, too wrapped up in their warped lives; Roderich was too commanding, and the Knights, and their leader Lovino, were too violent. And Lovino's dopey younger brother was…well, Ludwig would not go there. Feliciano had a good heart, but he was probably more dense than Gilbert (Not that the blonde would ever say _that_).

His mind was made up—Ludwig knew the response he was going to give…

_

* * *

_

_I shall save you._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

…_You've been reading romance novels, haven't you? Aw, shit, I knew I shouldn't have said all that to you. I'm not angry at you, Lud. If anything, you're the only decent spot in my life right now._

_By the way, don't pay attention to the mud on this letter—it rained last night and I sorta fell into the mud, heh._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Moron, don't get yourself dirty. But yes, I saw the rain from my room last night. It was…pretty._

_And you should have told me all of that—I understand your suffering better, Gilbert. And I meant what I said, it was not a romantic notion! I will save you! I am the heir to the throne, am I not?_

_- Ludwig_

_

* * *

_

_You're the heir to something, alright. God, Lud, you're six; don't get any stupid ideas into your head, you can't do anything right NOW. And I wasn't asking you to._

_You sounded like my mother when you said for me not to get dirty. Sheesh._

…_The rain was pretty last night. For once, it wasn't acidic or anything like that, hah._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_I may have any ideas that I wish to have! _

…_No, you are right. I cannot do anything at this moment. I cannot. I wish I could, but I cannot. And they could kill me, anyway. For being a traitor. For wanting to tear down the Wall, and free you and your friends, and the little 'family' that you have. Perhaps one day, we could find your real family. And give you back to them. Maybe they didn't want to give you up, Gilbert. Why would they?_

_For now, though…I suppose I can only give you my word that I will save you from this. And I will save you now by writing to you as long as you wish._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_Yep, romance novel reader, Hahaha._

_But…But I'm touched, Lud. Thank you. You…actually want to change things. Maybe your Dad will kick the bucket soon, and we can get out of here. _

…_Please keep writing; it's been the only thing that's kept me going recently. What with the fights, the arguments, the cold pea soup—which, by the way, never eat that, you'll thank me—and just…everything._

_I guess I will have to just accept your honor, and your word. _

_Thank you; I'd call you my hero, but that'd be too cheesy and you'd probably think I was hitting on you or something, heh._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

'_Hitting on you'? What is that? And of course I shall keep writing—your letters make me smile, Gilbert. You are my dearest friend. And probably will be for a very, very long time, at this rate._

_- Ludwig _

* * *

_You don't want to know what 'hitting on you', means—I'll tell you when you're older. _

_I'd write more, but I have to go—I didn't get out until late to write this. I'll talk to you soon._

_Oh, and I'm still looking for cracks in the Wall—Because I want to hear you and see you now, too. More so than ever. And it's gonna fucking happen, I give you MY word on THAT._

_It's a promise. And the Awesome that is ME always keeps his promises._

_- Gilbert_

* * *

_Take care of yourself, please. I do not want you getting in trouble because I want to speak to you everyday—well, 'write' to you everyday, if you want to be correct with the wording. _

_And I shall hold onto that promise, and remind you of it every so often, dear Gilbert. So you better find one, and I shall look for one as well. But even if we are able to talk, able to see one another, we will keep up writing to each other—there is something special about writing letters, something that is unique to it._

_Be careful—and soon enough, I will make things better for you. I promise you that, and I shall forever keep that promise to you. Even now, if it is only with my letters, I hope I am making things better for you. _

_But soon enough, you will be given everything that you deserve; I can tell you that now._

_Just be patient, and keep writing—I'll save you further soon enough._

_- Ludwig_

* * *

_"Hereafter, in a better world than this,_  
_I shall desire more love and knowledge of you."_  
_- William Shakespeare, As You Like It, 1.2_

* * *

A/N: And there's your first letter chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed it. They will be a little bit shorter than the average chapter, but that's not a big deal, yes? : D

You probably noticed the mentioning of "Britannia Empire"—Yes, there are other Empires out there in this AU. Including ones with Arthur, Alfred, Ivan, Yao, and Norway and Iceland, and many other characters. You won't see MUCH mentioning of them here, but in the sequel to Romeo…Well, haha, you'll just have to stay tuned, yes?

Hope you enjoyed this. I'll try for another update in a while, but I'll be finishing up 'Savior' before I do much more with this and 'Chimes'.

Thanks for reading, much more to come! There will be a small time-skip down the line in a while, so be prepared for that!


End file.
